In Heat
by themuller
Summary: Omega Bond in heat and Alpha Mallory has to help him through it.
1. Chapter 1

Bond was broken. Battered, bloodied, and on the brink of going into heat. He had accomplished the mission objectives, bringing the diplomat and his family back to England unharmed. Eliminating insurgents and blowing up buildings, having Q in his ear shouting directions and lecturing about gadgets and exploding pens—it had all been like so many times before. Except. Except that he had been forced to suppress his heat. Not just for a day or two, but for an entire week. And when he finally sat in the plane, the family safe and sound strapped up in their seatbelts, his mind started spinning.

Memories, long forgotten, forced their way up into his consciousness. Holding Olivia, M, his M, in his arms, closing her eyes; letting go of Vesper, watching her drown; and Tracy, again and again, Tracy, the first time he rescued her from the sea, the first time they kissed, made love. She had been the only alpha, he ever had bonded with.

The emotions became overwhelming and he had to fight to keep from crying. Bluntly, he brushed the single tear away, clenched his hands into fist, counted his breaths.

Somehow, he kept from falling apart on the plane. Delivered the family to someone from the government, before taking a cab to Six. It was late at night, and he hoped Mallory would be in his office.

Bond had never thought the special omega-clause in his contract would come to use. And when Mallory had taken over Mansfield's position, Bond had signed the new amendment without looking twice.

Driving through the empty streets of London, Bond recalled the first and until now last time he had been forced to use the clause. It had been an utter disaster. Olivia was an alpha who had been already bonded for many years back then, and as an unbounded omega, he could ask for her to be his back-up if he needed an alpha for his heats. Normally, the agents would find someone they trusted even if they wouldn't bond with them. But every now and then, something happened which required a higher security clearance, because the omega would be too vulnerable or traumatised to be helped through his heat by a civilian alpha.

Bond shook his head, a small smile on his face. For the entirety of three days, the two of them had been fighting for the upper hand. Olivia won in the end, but Bond went out of his way to avoid a repetition.

Now? Now he needed to be taken care of. Which had him up and in arms already. He knew he was close to a mental breakdown—and physically, going by the increasing pain and inability to move properly. Mallory was the only one who could be trusted with whatever secrets and information Bond would spill out during the next few days. He just hoped that Mallory was ready for him. He had sent a text just before he left the airport, but had gotten no reply.

Wouldn't that just be his luck in this case? He could feel the first cramps in his abdomen. They would become much stronger, because of the suppressants. Breathing through the pain, the cab came to a stop. Bond paid the driver and limped outside.

The building was almost empty, only the night watch was on guard and some of the boffins. He looked out for Q, but the unruly mop of hair was nowhere to be seen. Not that Q could help, being an omega himself. But Bond held a soft spot for the quartermaster and had on several occasions tried to get him into his bed. No luck there. Yet.

Moneypenny was nowhere to be seen. A bad sign, as Bond knocked on the door and pushed the handle down. It opened! Mallory was inside and clearly ready for him.

"I told Moneypenny to clear my schedule. She has arranged for the safe flat to be—"

A new cramp hit Bond and he curled in on himself, barely able to stand up, pressing his arms and hands into his stomach, trying to breathe. Then, he could feel Mallory's hands stroking his back softly. A soothing voice muttering utter nonsense to him. The smell of alpha, of safety, enveloping him. Bond leaned into the warm body standing close.

When the cramps had faded, Mallory somehow got him into another car, after having him drink some kind of medication. He felt dizzy, but the cramps vanished or at least it felt as if they did. He had no idea how long the drive had been or where they were, but Mallory got him out of the car and into a flat. Into a bed for sure, Bond thought, when he felt soft cushions and blankets around him.

Mallory had taken off their clothes, ensuring a much needed skin on skin contact, which helped Bond relax further. Mallory was massaging his chest and belly with strong, capable hands. Blankets were draped around Bond when he started shivering; they were taken away when he felt hot. Mallory seemed to know what to do without being prompted. Also, he was placing his hands in ways that soothed any cramps as soon as they started.

It wasn't a show of dominance as it had been with Olivia. This was care taking first and foremost. It felt good. Different. Bond relaxed enough for Mallory to begin cleaning his wounds and dressing them.

"Nothing seems broken," Mallory said quietly.

His voice was hushed and he murmured continuously while he examined Bond's body, explaining his findings and mumbling an occasional 'good boy' as Bond held still through the whole ordeal. Bond put it down to the onsetting of his heat that he didn't snap back at Mallory for the endearment, but deep down he had to admit that he revelled in it.

The feeling of being taken care of, not having to be the one in charge—Bond could let go, for once. Mallory posed no threat. He was an alpha, even his superior. But right here, right now, Mallory was the caretaker. Giving Bond what he needed, giving him the time and space to slip into the heat slowly and as painlessly as possible. At the same time grounding him with gentle caresses, the physical contact surprisingly calming to Bond.

Any sense of time was long gone when Bond felt a shift in his body, in the atmosphere in the room. Mallory had cleaned the first aid kit away and was helping Bond to drink some water, before climbing into the bed to him, this time cuddling closer.

The next phase had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

He was feverish now, feeling more vulnerable than he ever could remember. The strong scent of the alpha was enveloping him, creating a protective cocoon. Stil, his instinct to keep in control was fighting against the maelstrom of emotions, lust, need, which were drawing him deeper into the heat, tempting him with the promise of peaceful bliss and safety. All he had to do was trust—trust this alpha, who was whispering soothing words of encouragement and assurance. Trust had never come easy to him, and the events of the past months, this last mission, the death of M—his M—had been traumatic. And yet, he could feel the confidence of the alpha, it was palpable in the tender touch of the alpha's rough hands, the featherlike trailing of fingers along his cheek, following a bead of sweat, a deep wrinkle on his forehead. He held back, fighting against the next wave of fever, the surge of wantonness, gasping for breath and clenching his fist in the soft sheets.

He was wet and open, rutting against the blankets, pushing his head into the cushions, hiding his tears. Tears of frustration, of fear. A fight against his own body, against an invisible enemy in the form of hormones and pheromones. The latter filling the air like an aphrodisiac, pulling the alpha and him further and further into the senseless desire for sexual fullfilment. A craving which was overwhelming both of them; anxiety turned into passion, tension into release. He gave in, spread his legs, presented, begged. He could feel the wetness between his cheeks, along his thighs. Quiet whimpering, interspersed with endearments, calming in the middle of the ongoing storm inside his head.

Fingers probing, all resistance gone, body and mind weightless, floating. Expertly, the movement and pressure, easing off, pushing in, one finger, two—stretching and filling. He was moaning with utter abandon, unrestrained and carefree. Pushing back against the other body, warm and welcoming, responsive and attentive. Seeking his own pleasure, now, baring his neck, enticing the alpha to take, to kiss, lick, bite. The thrill of the sharp, short flare of pain, of endorphins rushing through his body. Muscles, contracting, relaxing; lungs, heaving for air with an open mouth; eyes, unable to focus, moist with unshed tears. Strong hands turning him, holding his face, lips pushed onto lips, tongues intertwining; fingers brushing through his hair; a body, less muscles than his own, pressed against his stomach and chest; the quelching sound of wet skin on wet skin.

Begging, pleading. Both of them breathing hard, gulping, gasping for air. Whimpers turning into whines. High pitched. Low growling from the alpha as he bottoms out, stills, before pulling back, pushing in hard, forcing his knot inside—and he feels the extra stretch, the almost too much, still too little. He tightens instinctively, milking, believing he can feel the spurts of semen, buried deep inside of him. The face above him a looming, dark shadow only, but even now, the growls are reassuring, even now, the alpha's attention is on him.

And he comes. His cock trapped between their writhing bodies, he can feel the tension built, his body arching up. His arms are held down, the alpha holding them in place, knowingly. His whole body contracting, the very core of his being exploding in the brightness of light, of warmth and energy rippling through every single nerve.

He screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

Bond must have blacked out. His eyelids felt heavy and the urge to just let go and drift back into sleep was almost overwhelming him. But he couldn't. His mind was filled with noise. Screams. He had to fight back, he needed to regain control of his senses and his body. He tried to turn around to lie on his back, only to be stopped by an arm, gently holding him in place. For a second his muscles tensed, ready for fight, then he remembered. With a groan that turned into a helpless quiet sob he relented. His fingers curled into the sheets, the movement freeing a cloud of pheromones. The warmth of the body lodged at his back, the soft kiss placed soothingly on his neck, it all added to his feeling of weakness, of emasculation. He tried to move, only to feel the alpha seated deeply inside of him, the knot tying them together. The resulting orgasm only a ripple, a soft current in his muscles.

He waited, only his hand fidgeting with the soiled sheets, every twist adding to the seductive cloud around him. As fuzzy as his mind was, this would have been the time for Olivia to berate him of his disobedience, his failings. She would tear him open and apart when he was at his most vulnerable. She would stitch him back together, later, when the heat was waning, when his shields would be back up again. Bond would squirm helplessly in her grip, mind and body trying to appease the alpha. They would never speak about these incidents afterwards. Bond not wanting to be reminded of what he perceived as a devastating weakness; Olivia not needing to remind Bond of her power over him.

He felt sluggish, tired. He did not want to fight. Not any longer. His defences were down. As much as he loathed his body, he needed the closeness, the feeling of being held, of being pinned down. Mallory sensed his disquiet. No words were spoken, no accusations raised. The warm body was draped over his, the weight comforting. Experienced fingers were combing through his damp hair, lightly massaging his scalp. His breathing evened out, became a contented humming, which was answered with a low, satisfied growling. The screaming in his head ceased, replaced by the merging of the soft noises around him, a quiet silence taking hold of him. He drifted off into this silence.

When he woke up from his peaceful sleep, he found himself lying in clean sheets. The air in the room was fresh, even if their pheromones still lingered. He opened his eyes to find a friendly face watching him closely. Mallory was sitting on the bed, holding a glass of water invitingly towards him. A few clumsy movements and a shared laughter later, and Bond let Mallory hold the glass to his lips. Bond was too relaxed, too worn out to even hold a glass in his hands. His mind was clear, just for a few hours before the next wave of randiness would hit them both. Mallory pampered him. Fed him small, tasty bites of delicious food, urged him to drink. He lead him to the bathroom and with a nod acknowledge Bond's need for privacy. They would arrange themselves on the bed, Mallory leaning up against the headboard, Bond between his legs. All the time, Mallory would make sure to be close, enveloping Bond with a bewildering, but welcome kindness.

It was when the Bond was drowning once more in the scents and sensations of their coupling that he realised they hadn't spoken at all. Instead, the silence between them had been comforting. A touch, a blink, a small nod and they knew what the other wanted or needed. With a satisfied sigh, Bond turned over and let the alpha have his way with him.

He felt safe.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up, slowly stretching his limps and drawing a deep breath, before nuzzling back into the pillow under his head. It took several seconds before Bond's usual wariness kicked in. Even then, his body remained relaxed while he was scouring his surroundings. Mallory had left. Bond failed to stifle a small sigh, realising he was alone in the room. Still, the sheets were clean and Bond's various bruises and wounds had been tended too. Despite their rather enthusiastic coupling, Bond felt strangely invigorated. He had no idea how long they had been cooped up in the room. Probably longer than his general three days, given his initial distress and the suppressants.

It took several more minutes for Bond to detect the smell of fresh coffee and toast, wafting in through the unclosed door. His stomach made itself heard loud and clear. With a groan, Bond sat up. As contented as he had felt lying down, covered in soft duvets, as mangled did he feel sitting up. Every single muscle and bone in his body hurt. Not the stinging pain of a broken bone or injuries sustained in a fight. This was a soreness, almost a tender current running through his body. An ache, any other omega would fix through the bond with their alpha. Not a luxury Bond could count on. Instead, Bond got up and hobbled into the bathroom.

Once again, Mallory's foresight surprised him. Neatly folded, a fluffy sweat suit was hanging on the side of the bathtub, together with warm, soft socks, and a pair pants. New toiletries were laid out by the basin. With a small, self-deprecating smirk, Bond began the arduous process of getting washed and dressed, for the first time in his life wishing he had a bond-mate.

Standing under the hot spray of the shower, Bond recalled Mallory's touch; his look, curious and attentive, observing, waiting for permission to continue his ministrations. He had never just taken. It had been a playful back and forth between them, so different from anything Bond had ever experienced before. He was used to being a blunt machine, his sexuality a weapon, not a playful possibility for two adults to lose themselves in.

He shook his head, turned off the water, and stepped outside the shower. No need to wish for something, he would never have–and even if, he was sure he would never be able to sustain a bond in the long run. Surely, an alpha like Mallory would want more than the occasional shag with a broken and traumatised omega like Bond.

No, Bond decided as he readied himself to face the world once more, he would cherish the moment. With that, he tottered down the stairs toward the promising scent of coffee.

The stairs led into the living room. At the end of the stairs, Bond could hear low chatter from a room opposite. Only Mallory's voice could be heard, a pleasant grumble giving Bond a warm feeling in his belly even if he was unable to discern any words. Bond cleared his throat, alerting the others to his presence. He could hear the shuffling of chairs, then Mallory stood in the doorway.

"James! Get in here. You must be starving."

Mallory turned around, not waiting for an answer. He said something to the other person in the room, then some more shuffling of chairs and clinks from mugs and cutlery were heard. Bond moved slowly towards the kitchen. He felt tense and uncertain about meeting a stranger. Especially, since this stranger probably was Mallory's bond-mate. Steeling himself, he went through the door. And stopped dead in his steps.

"Q?"

With a wide grin on his face, the young boffin turned around, a plate with toast and omelette in his hands.

"Best kept secret of Six," he said, winking at the stunned agent as he put down the plate and indicated for Bond to sit.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee," Bond stammered, sitting down with a thud.

"Milk, sugar?"

"Black," he said, belatedly adding a 'please'.

Mallory watched Q a little while, the smile on his face tender, before he turned back to Bond.

"How do you feel, James?"

Bond had to blink a few times, secretly pinching himself to make sure he was indeed awake. Even then, he was at a loss of words.

"James?" Mallory sounded worried.

"No need for alarm, love. He probably thought I live at Q-branch. Tea and biscuits, and some kind of sex-toy taking care of my needs as an omega."

Q's voice was light, teasing. Mallory grinned up at Q, giving him a playful slap on his bottom.

"Behave yourself, pigeon! James is our guest for the time being."

Both of them had been watching Bond, seeing the slight sting of disappointment Bond had felt at Mallory's words. Q sat down, looking at Mallory, one eyebrow cocked. Mallory gave a small nod, and once more Q's face lit up in a smile. Something had been decided between the two of them, but nothing more was forthcoming. Instead, they had their breakfast. Q briefed both of them about the on-going missions and developments during the past week. Bond was not surprised when he was told, how long they had been out of it. Despite Mallory's conscientious care during his heat, Bond could feel the physical exhaustion creeping up on him. Q made sure both Mallory and Bond were well fed, before he shooed them into the living room.

"I'll take care of the dishes, love. You find some romantic movie or whatever spies like to watch in their sparetime."

Q's snicker was heard above the sound of running water and dishes being stacked.

"Pigeon! Mind your manners or I'll have you doing inventory!"

An indignant huff was Q's answer.

Mallory gestured at the sofa and Bond sat down, not really knowing what he was expected to do now. Usually, the alpha would have shown him the door as soon as Bond had been awake and able to dress and walk again. Olivia had certainly made sure, Bond was out and away before her bond-mate had returned home. The domesticity of Q's and Mallory's banter, their acceptance of Bond in their home–it felt strange, alien. At the same time, Bond had never felt this safe before. Safe, sated, contented.

Mallory turned on the TV-set and sat down right beside Bond.

"Any preferences?"

Bond just shook his head. Whatever this was, he needed Mallory to lead him. It felt comfortable, leaning back in the sofa, letting Mallory do whatever he intended to do. Eventually, Mallory leaned back as well, opening his arms invitingly towards him. Bond swallowed. In an instant, his emotions were all over the place. He wanted nothing more than to snuggle into the embrace of his–of the alpha. But the alpha was bonded. To Q, of all possible omegas. Q, who seemed unfazed by the situation, even supportive. And Bond needed this. The bone-deep weariness he had felt increase over the past months–he knew that it was the craving for a connection. For a meaningful, trusting relationship with someone.

Mallory waited patiently. There was no demand in his posture. This was an offer, given freely, providing the kind of aftercare, Bond never had encountered before. Never even thought was possible. But needed, wanted. And he gave in. With a sigh, he leaned forward, letting Mallory hug him closer to his chest. By now, Bond recognised the contented rumble of the alpha. Bond closed his eyes. Mallory¨s fingers brushed gently through Bond's hair, calming him with every stroke.

"If you like, you can stay, James."

It was said quietly. When Bond tensed, Mallory shushed him.

"Q has been scolding me for not taking care of you earlier. Back then, when Mansfield died."

A small sound of distress was answered with a light kiss on Bond's temple.

"He was adamant that I make the offer. He knows–hell, you and I know that a bond would steady you in the field. Q might even be able to reach out to you through it. I know he does with me."

Bond felt like he was dreaming. Wide awake, but somehow floating in a dreamlike state. The soothing voice, the possibilities opening with Mallory's proposition–it left Bond breathless.

"Think about it, James. We've got time. No need to rush things."

Bond's eyelids felt heavy. The exhaustion was finally catching up with him.

"Sleep, James. We can talk later."

 _We've got time_ , Bond thought, sleep overwhelming him. _All the time in the world._

 _I'm home._


End file.
